


Sterling Qualities

by Framlingem



Category: Firefly
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-07 13:06:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4264287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Framlingem/pseuds/Framlingem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three months into Mal and Inara's business arrangement, Mal wakes up in Inara's shuttle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sterling Qualities

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maidenjedi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maidenjedi/gifts).



The man opposite her stretches languorously, the white cotton of his shirt at odds with the brocade of the bedspread. He keeps his eyes closed, but searches with his hand, patting his way across under the pillow and then, increasingly urgently, over the sheets. He pats empty air where he is expecting a bolted-down bunkside locker. One of his eyes opens.

“Bwuh?” he says, and then, “whuh? Where? Wherezzit?”

Inara flows out of her seat, shrugs her sari back into place, and regards him coolly until he opens the other eye and sits up. “That depends on what you're looking for, Captain,” she says. They've been flying together for three months, now, and she knows him well enough to assume he's looking for his sidearm. But still, three months. It would be rude to _let on_ that she knows him that well. 

“M'gun,” he says. “I had it last night.”

Yep. He looks distinctly fraught, she thinks. It would be cruel to let his ignorance persist any longer. But then, he does persist in being ignorant. Even that one client six months back who did nothing all night except dissect the minutiae of the stock market wasn't so tiresome –  _he_ paid her decently, and was gallant about making sure she returned safely to the spaceport. Captain Malcolm Reynolds did not count gallantry among the many sterling qualities she had yet to discover. He must  _have_ some sterling qualities. Inside.

 

Deep, deep inside. Somewhere.

 

She puts him out of his misery. “It's in my safe, Captain.”

“Oh. Good.” She imagines she can see the neuron working itself up to fire as he takes in his surroundings more completely. It fires. “I'm in your shuttle.”

“Yes. Would you like some tea?”

“We didn't...”

“No, Captain. If we had, I assure you that you'd remember, and your bank balance would be considerably lighter.”

“Oh. Well, good.” He's blushing. “Wait. How  _much_ lighter?”

“Considerably. As I said.” She takes pity on him. “You're in my shuttle because you got drunk last night and took exception to a comment someone made about  _Serenity_ . Some locals got in touch with us and arranged to get you back here, but Zoe received a transmission in the meantime about some cargo which needed to be picked up. A matter of some urgence, I understand.” He still looks confused. She represses the urge to sigh. “I offered to stay behind. We'll catch up to them as soon as I've finished up some final arrangements.”

He looks rather touched, really. “Huh. Thanks, Ambassador.”

“This is not the most central location, Captain. My business depends on yours, after all.” Business is business. And Kaylee had looked at her pleadingly, and Zoe had been caught between never leaving anyone behind and the knowledge that the ship needed a cargo, and Wash would follow Zoe anywhere. There had to be a reason for such loyalty. “Was that a yes to tea?”

He nods and takes the delicate cup cautiously, as though he's afraid he'd break it. She's glad of the caution. He doesn't have much appreciation for fine things (and the porcelain is very fine – a gift from a captain of industry), but he does understand that she does, and values that enough to take care. There: a sterling quality. She sips her own tea, and heads into the cockpit to contact a client at their next port of call.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Inara's voice floats back into the main compartment briefly -- “Hoang! I was delighted to hear from you!” -- before being cut off. Mal hauls himself off of the bed.  _T_ _ ā māde,  _ but his head hurts. He doesn't remember a whole lot from last night, except for... he groans to himself. There had been vomiting. He hopes it had all occured outside. He hasn't been inside the shuttle recently, as a lady deserves privacy no matter her profession, and Inara's a paying customer besides. Now that he looks around, it doesn't look like it'd be an easy place to hose off. All... silk, he guesses. Satin? Velvet? Not that he's ever been around much silk. Or satin. Or, come to think, velvet.

He takes another sip of the tea and makes a face. It tastes like flowers. If he wanted to drink perfume, he'd drink perfume. Coffee, now. That's a drink for the morning after. Coffee thick enough that the spoon stands up in it. Wakes you up proper. 

There's a plant in the corner. It's familiar-looking, and from the depths of his memory he remembers a time when the thought of going into a flowership wasn't laughable, and pictures a woman selling... orchids. It's an orchid. He dumps his tea into the dirt around its roots, then fingers its leaves. Strange, to have green things growing. With his free hand, he fingers the leaves. 

Damn the woman, she gave him this teacup, and he can't see anywhere to put it where it ain't liable to roll onto the floor and break, and his head is buzzing, and – what was it she'd said? He'd gotten into a brawl over something someone'd said about  _ Serenity _ ? 

Oh. Not  _ Serenity _ . Serenity Valley. He remembers, now. Fumes from the local hooch, and a wake for some kid, young when he'd died last week and, Mal figures, even younger when he'd come home from Serenity Valley missing a leg. Mal'd got to talking with the fellow next to him at the bar, and the story'd come out: young wife, no work but mine work, hard enough with all your limbs but near impossible with just three and a tendency to skittishness. Grew up on his daddy's horse farm, and he'd've been all right breaking horses after 'cept the Alliance'd bombed the farm in the war. The family'd survived, but there was no money for new stock and nobody to sell it to 'em even if they'd been able to pay. So they'd scraped by, and now the kid's missus was expecting and sick with it, and there was life insurance and maybe someone else for her, and then. 

Well, then someone'd suggested the kid should've done it sooner, or better yet died in the valley and saved everyone the trouble, and Mal hauled off and got the bastard right in the nose with a good left hook. 

It strikes him that Inara's taking a long time making her business call about a second before he realizes he's been staring at the fragile porcelain teacup for some time now, and about two seconds before he realizes his eyes are maybe a little wet. Just a little. It's the hangover. The fancy bedspread makes a whoomphing noise as he sits back down on it, and the curtains swish open as though in response. Inara comes in. She looks at him, and he remembers with shame that Companions are trained to observe, and he bets she can see right through him. Her eyes are large and steady as they meet his; he looks away first.

She says only that she's concluded her business and it's time to go and meet up with the others, and then takes the teacup from him. She doesn't mention what she sees in his face, and he's grateful.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, Maidenjedi! I'm not sure this quite fits the "Inara and Mal hanging out" prompt, but I hope you liked it anyway. I've never written Inara before; thanks for providing the impetus to do so!


End file.
